


A drop of wax

by M_Moonshade



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, POV Elim Garak, folktale adaptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: Garak should have been content to stay in the dark.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	A drop of wax

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [East of the Sun, West of the Moon, and Somewhere on DS9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886990) by [sapphose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphose/pseuds/sapphose). 



Garak was happy with the way things were.

No. That's a lie. He'll lie to the rest of the galaxy, but not to himself. No, he wasn't _happy_. There's no such thing for him in exile, where everything is too cold and too bright, where he's forced to play daily at whatever humiliating persona is demanded of him, or else face hostility and violence. No, _happiness_ was never an option for him here. But maybe _good enough_ was within his grasp. And what he'd had was dangerously close to _good enough_. He might not have afforded respect from anyone else on the damned station, but the dear doctor looked at him with awe. To Doctor Bashir he was _The Spy_ , capable of feats that bordered on magic, master of eloquence and subtlety and terrifying violence when the occasion suited. And when their meetings passed beyond weekly lunches in the replimat and into drowsing conversations between silk sheets--

Garak winces at the memory.

It's over now.

He should have left well enough alone.

But he couldn't have that, now could he? Not at all-- not Elim Garak, crown jewel of the Obsidian Order and the vaunted-unacknowledged Son of Tain. His very birth was a secret, the unknown flowed through his veins as naturally as blood. He exhaled lies with every breath. But guls forbid anyone keep a secret in his presence, no, perish the thought! Not even the sweet human who looked at him with such wonder. 

Especially not him.

So when Garak began to notice that Julian shied away from certain subjects, he couldn't help but investigate. 

And oh, _yes_ , he could have used his old skills to pry that coveted secret from Julian's lips, but he was too _good_ for that. He had congratulated himself on his restraint, his subtlety, his cleverness.

What a fool.

Instead he pored over the details of Julian's life. He picked apart every detail with a spy's precision, found the little incongruities, traced them back to the precise date and time-- and then the place. Adigeon Prime. 

And it was fun-- and isn't that the cruelest blow? He'd been caught up in the thrill of the chase, eagerly hunting down his quarry without sparing so much as a thought for whose life he was unearthing, or why he might have gone to such lengths to keep it buried. Not until he realized that his searches had been traced. Not until he found the virus crawling through his data terminals, carving into his most recent searches and carrying them back to their masters. 

When it all came together for him-- that Julian Bashir was an illegal augment-- it was too late. Starfleet knew it too.

And they were coming for him.

The moment is seared in his memory: Julian lying in bed, his face beatific in sleep. It felt like a crime to wake him, but he had no choice. Not when they were already on their way. 

Maybe it was sentiment that made him wake Julian with a kiss. Maybe it was indulgence that he wanted to see him smile one last time. 

He told him, of course-- directly, because he had no time for subtlety, not now-- and with every word he watched that beautiful smile melt into horror, betrayal, and finally despair. Garak wasn't surprised when he was thrown out of Julian's quarters. He swore he would make it right, that he would fix this, all the way until the door slammed shut in his face. He kept swearing it, silently, as he raced back to his own quarters to begin his plans. There were lines of communication to scramble, orders to misfile, navigational charts to corrode. Mere roadblocks, themselves, but they would buy him precious time to come up with a more permanent solution. By morning he'd come up with dozens of possibilities, each one ready to be put into action at a moment's notice. He gathered them together like a bouquet, intending to present them to Julian and let him choose his favorite. That was the true apology: to put the mastery of his life firmly back in Julian's hands. Garak could think of nothing more elegant. 

And of course, that required overriding the lock on Julian's door. He knew that he wouldn't be welcome back right away, but this was a matter of some urgency. He would be sure to make up for it with some well-deserved groveling later.

But Julian wasn't in his quarters. 

His belongings were scattered. His closet half-emptied-- only his Starfleet uniforms remained behind. 

And most damningly, Kukalaka was nowhere to be seen.

That was weeks ago.

The warrant was issued, the noble enforcers of Federation law came looking, but Julian Bashir-- Doctor no longer-- was nowhere to be found. Every shuttle, ship, and runabout that departed that week has been searched down to the microscopic level. Every log, every transmission, every communication. All have come up empty.

Julian is gone, and he hasn't left a trace.

 _He_ hasn't.

But Garak sees the way Chief O'Brien looks at him sometimes, with a resentment and fury that goes far beyond his feelings towards _Cardies_. He knows that Garak's to blame for Julian's disappearance. But it's something more than that. It's the strange patterns of his worry when he speaks to those few he holds in confidence-- not that Julian will be _caught_ , but that he'll be _hurt_. Wherever he is, he's far out of reach of the Federation's clutches. 

And that means there's still a chance.

Maybe not for things to go back to what they were-- Garak holds no hope of that-- but maybe he'll have a chance to make it right. To apologize. To see Julian's face again, one last time.

That will have to be good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I started rambling about this idea in a comment to Sapphose's fic, and then realized that it would make more sense for me to just make it a ficlet of its own. It all came out in one go, which is why it's still a bit sketchy.


End file.
